


Skidding Down the Sliding Scale

by keire_ke



Series: Erik Lehnsherr's Guide to Parenting [2]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-04
Updated: 2011-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-25 17:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keire_ke/pseuds/keire_ke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex chalks up his grudging love for his dad to Stockholm Syndrome. He’s not going to stand idly by while Erik harvests Mr. Xavier’s innocent soul, however. Human AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Skidding Down the Sliding Scale 1/1  
> Rating: 14  
> Genre: fun  
> Pairings: Erik/Charles, Alex/Hank  
> Wordcount: 19k  
> Warnings: creative use of homophobia, crazy teenage logic  
> Summary: Alex chalks up his grudging love for his dad to Stockholm Syndrome. He’s not going to stand idly by while Erik harvests Mr. Xavier’s innocent soul, however. Human AU.
> 
> Author’s Note: continuation of [Playing Havoc](http://archiveofourown.org/works/244760).
> 
> Damn you, kink meme! Damn you to hell!
> 
> Betaed by yami_tai and imprint_of_doe. <3

Coronary arrest feels like a fistful of ice shoved down the back of his shirt, a feeling Alex is intimately familiar with, because Erik used that exact method to teach him that getting up at the crack of dawn is good for him.

It was only the development of fabulous abs, a result of running every morning to shake off the cold, that stopped Alex from hiring a live alligator to put in Erik’s bed. When he thinks back on it, it was probably a good thing he decided against it; putting a live alligator in Erik’s bed might have resulted in Alex getting a new, scaly mother, and then he would have had no friends whatsoever.

His life is complicated like that.

Right now, Raven flutters madly at his side and, if Alex knows anything at all about girls, about Raven, she is mentally diving for her phone, because she is a colossal pervert, and Erik is soaped up and splayed on the hood of a dripping wet car, next to an equally disheveled Mr. Xavier. If life was porn, and, god willing, Alex remains hopeful, they would be humping in under a minute.

Oh god, he did not just have that thought about Mr. Xavier.

“It’s like he’s doing it on purpose,” Raven says, slack-jawed, when Erik takes control of the hose and sprays everything in thirty foot radius, grinning inanely.

“I think I’ve seen a porno like this once,” Angel says, and props a wet sponge on her shoulder so that the suds drip between her breasts and soak into her black bikini.

“Kill me,” Alex says miserably.

Mr. Xavier straightens and an honest to god giggle escapes his mouth. He turns to look at Erik, a guileless fool, and somehow their gazes meet, his grin gets wider, and Alex wants to die.

When Erik notices them watching, he blows a raspberry in their direction. Alex really, really wants to die then.

He escapes the humiliation as soon as he is able. Raven invites him and Hank over, to toast the success (the class trip is now more than a certainty, she says) and demolish Charles’ private stash of vodka.

“You know, I really think Charles has a thing for your dad,” she tells him later that evening. She sways as she speaks and the lamp light glistens in the scaly pattern of her bikini. Alex tops off her shot glass and raises the bottle in a silent salute. “Can’t blame him, your dad is a total DILF.”

Hank is so smashed, he actually nods. He must have forgotten sunscreen, because his face, around the pale circles left by sunglasses, looks pink. He’s stretched out all the way across Raven’s bedroom, all seventeen and a half feet of him (and every inch wasted on a nerd who’d much rather read than run, in Alex’s humble opinion), with his head propped on his hands. There are wet patches on his shorts, his shirt is hanging off one shoulder and sticking to the other. If he was a girl, Alex would be staring down cleavage, but things being what they are, all he can see is shallow valley of Hank’s sternum.

“He kinda is. Like a bad biker person in leather,” Hank says into the carpet.

Alex, who is in the process of taking a swig straight up from the bottle, chokes, coughs and addresses everyone in turn. “Please take that back, Raven. Please. For the love of god. And you, no. Just no. Gay people don’t get to vote on the hotness of my dad. He’s my dad!”

“Nope. He really is. Totally smitten.” Raven pours herself another shot.

“He’s not gay,” Alex says, desperately. He’s not sure if he’s talking about his father or Mr. Xavier. The picture of the two of them on the hood of the car is far more vivid than he’s comfortable with.

“Everyone is gay for Charles. He’s got this thing going on for him. Trust me. Everyone.” Raven looks around and lowers her voice. When she finally speaks it is very nearly sober. “My brother -- half-brother -- his stepbrother -- is totally gay for Charles. Was. Of course he is also insane, but my point is made.”

“Mr. Xavier isn’t gay!”

“No, but he’s willing to wing it.” Raven leans into him, grinning like the devil-woman she is, and licks her lips. “That one time, I saw him making out with the captain of the football team -- he was in college then, you wouldn’t believe the slut he was -- and I swear to god, that guy has been straight as an arrow all his life. A perfect zero on the Kinsey scale. Or ten. Can’t remember.”

Alex feels his brain trickle out of his ears. He’s happy to let it, if it gets the images out of his mind. Hank reaches out to pat him on the head, but only manages to shove Alex’s forehead into the carpet. The feel of his fingers in Alex’s hair is soothing, however, so he remains for the time being, crushed under the weight of the world.

He returns home in the morning, because fuck if he’s going to risk life and limb finding his way home in the dark. He leaves Raven’s palace -- or Mr. Xavier’s palace, really -- together with Hank, finding the requisite balance somewhere between the two of them. The pavement is a little unsteady under their feet, but Hank hasn’t been winning science fairs since he was five for nothing. He calculates (Alex can hear the numbers crunch in his brain) and adjusts the angle and they walk propped against each other, shoving one foot in front of the other, and it works beautifully. Hank’s warmth sinks into Alex’s shoulder, providing a nice counterpoint to the cool breeze which follows the nape of his neck. All the impulses meet somewhere in the center of his being and Alex is comfortable; Hank breathing on his side, pavement meeting his feet at regular intervals, everything is fine.

He’s going to miss it next year, when they all go to college, Alex thinks unexpectedly. It’s not a happy thought.

“If you’re so smart,” Alex says, slurring only a little, “how come you can’t walk and talk at the same time?”

“I can.”

“No, you can’t. You’ve been silent.”

“Nothing to say.” Hank is flushed and biting his lip and Alex knows he’s right when the rhythm of his steps falters.

“Knew it! You are so confused right now.”

“That’s my house,” Hank says and shoves his hands in his pockets. Alex stumbles and pauses to confirm that, yes, this is the place.

“Huh.”

“You want me to walk you home?”

“Hey, I walked you home, if anything. Nah, I got it. Good night, bozo,” Alex says.

“Good morning,” Hank tells him and almost grins. Almost, because for Hank grinning is like whipping off his pants and jumping into a fountain -- something that just isn’t done. His smile is good though, showing a proper amount of teeth, accompanied by a merry twinkle in his eyes. Hank might be a nerd, but he’s got the smile down. If he had any follow through, he would be swimming up to his ears in girls. Guys. Hank prefers guys.

Alex swallows, waves and stumbles proudly around the corner. He’s come to a tentative agreement with the pavement, so the road is uneventful, but the gates try to give him lip. He’s not going to spend his morning standing there and arguing with gates, god fucking damn it, and eventually he collapses over them, holding on with one hand and coming to rest on his own two feet on the other side.

The keyhole, the cheeky asshole, has the gall to resist. Alex jabs the key in with more force than necessary and then falls forward as the door swings open and he is lying at Erik’s feet.

“You,” Alex says, glaring at the carnivorous Cheshire Cat, who peers at him from the height of six feet and wears his father’s face, “are the worst father in existence. In the history of ever.”

“That reminds me, I was going to sell you into slavery. I knew there was something I was forgetting.”

“I want therapy. Because you are an awful person and Jesus fuck, could you make any more of a spectacle of yourself? In front of my entire class? I demand therapy!”

“You will have to email me about it.” Erik picks up a pair of sunglasses from the shelf and lights a cigarette.

“What, are you going somewhere?”

“I’m late. There’s cold beer in the fridge, in case you’re hungover, but I can see that won’t be for a while yet.”

“Where are you going?”

“Hopefully not to whore myself out for your grades.” Erik stares at him and blows out a perfect circle of smoke. His smile gleams in the blue nicotine mist. “Are you failing anything?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Good. I’ll be back sometime. Try not to burn down the house.”

“I have a bottle of gasoline ready to go under your bed!” Alex yells, but the most he achieves is Erik flipping him the bird. Alex glares, because what the fuck, seriously, even as the old lady at the curb and her poodle give him the stink eye. “Good morning, Mrs. Lambert. Any problems?”

She huffs and pulls the mangy dog to the other side of the street.

Alex picks himself up, even though the carpet in the hallway feels like a bed fit for a king, and drudges upstairs. He falls into his bed and the covers swallow him whole, closing over his head like a cloud of eternal fluffiness.

Alex sleeps the sleep of one who knows their criminally insane father is out of the house for the foreseeable future.

He wakes up in the afternoon and fixes dinner. Erik still isn’t back, so Alex reluctantly leaves the rest of the pasta in the pot and showers.

The world is somewhat normal, for a certain given value of normal.

*****

Monday morning begins like the apocalypse isn’t sure to strike later that week. Alex chews his way through his breakfast oatmeal and leaves for school with twenty seconds to spare.

Tuesday is more of the same, only considerably brighter, because he’s got the first period with Mr. Xavier, who is, oddly enough for a teacher, not a complete waste of space. It’s advanced biology, so it requires active neurons, but Alex is happy to pay attention when Mr. Xavier talks, if only because he gets adorable when the subject is of enough interest, and he has been stuck on hereditary traits for a while now. Alex nods and makes notes, only occasionally peering into Hank’s notebook (it never hurts to double-check).

Mr. Xavier drops the chalk and runs his hand through his hair, leaving a grey smudge across his scalp, and he turns to the class with earnest joy in his gaze. “This is the key to understanding evolution,” he says. “Chance and chance again. A random trait could mean death or life to a specimen, depending on the accident of territory, or conditions, or company, and these traits are accidents themselves, brought upon by mistakes or flukes of the system responsible for duplicating and translating the genetic code. The creature that lives multiplies, thus passing the traits on and on, until the species becomes something entirely new.”

Mr. Xavier is flushed and his bangs falls into his eyes, chalk-dust and all, and Alex draws a toothy shark on the margin of his notebook. He wonders what accident of evolution gave birth to Erik and where exactly evolution ran to hide from her accidental creation.

He shows the drawing to Hank later. They have a good laugh. The rest of the week is uneventful.

On Saturday, they leave for the trip. Alex is half awake when he shoves his duffle-bag into the back-seat of the Chevy and he could swear he dozes on the way to school. Someone had the bright idea to leave at the ass-crack of dawn, and though Alex is capable of getting out of bed, if required, he is not happy about it.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Erik says. “That way you’ll all be dead in the bus.”

“Shut up,” Alex mutters and tries not to slobber on the window. “Too early to deal with you. Don’t you have souls to lure to the side of Satan?”

“That’s my evening job. In the mornings I work for Microsoft.”

Then facts from this morning present themselves for inspection, fashionably late. “How are you even awake?” It’s too damn early and Erik is tweeting like a goddamn canary. Alex stares at him and frantically curses his brain for not reacting to the filter command, because the picture he’s seeing isn’t getting any sharper and the nags in the back of his head have found hammers. He is missing something, but he won’t turn back, because if Erik looks as happy as he sounds, then fire and brimstone is raining from the sky and the moment Alex turns, someone’s guts will hit the windshield.

He isn’t sure whether he should be glad or apprehensive about the lack of intestines on the car when they roll into the school courtyard. They are not the first ones there, which is a surprise, given the hour. Erik parks the car on the far end of the courtyard, beneath the trees, and raises a brow when Alex grunts.

“Out.”

“Leave me alone,” Alex moans, but fighting Erik is largely impractical. He ends up dragging his duffle behind him as he makes his way towards the bus.

“Alex, Erik, good morning!” Mr. Xavier comes to greet them. He has overdosed his Prozac, if the beaming smile is any indication. Alex looks at him blearily, half-expecting to see sun rays glowing right out of his head, but all he manages to note is Raven, rolling her eyes over Mr. Xavier’s shoulder.

“Would you believe me if I told you he is depressed by being awake?” she says in a stage whisper that carries to the everyone who is already there. “Always at his sunniest in the mornings. Swear to god.”

“I thought he was on happy pills.”

“Oh, I’ve got that figured out. The bricks of our house are made of happy pills.”

“Really?”

“That’s the only explanation, I’ve been searching for them for years and he kept getting more chipper the earlier I woke. I figure he’s licking the walls when I’m not looking.”

“Or, I have a splendid brain chemistry that has me at my best in the early mornings.” Mr. Xavier laughs at the two of them and waves towards the yellow monstrosity waiting for them across the lot. “You can sleep on the bus.”

“Thank god for that.” Alex picks up his bag and rubs his face. “Bye, Dad,” he throws over his shoulder.

“Alex,” Erik says and as Alex turns something hits him in the chest. He wraps his arms around it reflexively and stares. It’s a duffle bag.

He wishes it was full of dynamite, or uranium, or condoms. Alex hopes to be told his mission is to assassinate the president, blow up the White House -- hell, he’d be happy if he was told to self-immolate by the Washington Memorial -- because the alternative which suggests itself holds more horror.

“Be a dear and pack it, will you?” Erik says, making the horror a reality.

“What the fuck?” Alex manages, as he is treated to the full extent of his father’s smile, the one that seems to reach all around his head and come at a guy from the other side of a room like a surprise flock of piranhas. “What the actual fuck!”

“Alex, language.” Mr. Xavier frowns. “Your father was kind enough to volunteer to chaperone the trip, seeing that the school is understaffed at the moment.”

Alex processes this one syllable at a time, even as Raven squeals. “Okay,” he says eventually. “That’s a good one. Where’s Freddy?”

“Who?”

“Freddy Krueger. Because I’m dreaming.” Probably in Erik’s trunk, begging for mercy, Alex reflects even as he says, “You can’t be serious.”

“I never kid around.” Erik’s grins narrows into something almost civilized. Great job, Dad, Alex thinks, you almost look like you don’t belong in the Jurassic Park, chasing down a panicked T-Rex.

“You hate kids. You hate everybody!”

“Having standards is not a crime now?”

“Your standards automatically exclude ninety percent of the human race.”

“Alex, please. Those would be very sorry standards indeed.” Erik looks at Mr. Xavier out of the corner of his eye. Alex can’t place the expression his face melts into. “My standards automatically exclude everyone. It is only a lucky few who can claw their way back into my good graces.”

“You have _good_ graces? Since when?”

“Alex,” Mr. Xavier says, hiding a smile behind his clipboard.

“I give up. What did I do?”

“What did you do?”

“Come on, you wouldn’t be here if I didn’t do something terrible. What did I do? Forgot the shopping? Mixed in the red shirt with the whites? Chewed on your turtlenecks? What?”

“Why would you chew on my turtlenecks?”

“I’m teething. Answer the goddamn question!”

“Alex, language,” Erik says, parroting Mr. Xavier’s posh accent.

“I’m sorry for whatever it is I did. I’ll do all the chores for a month when I get back. Can we quit the nonsense now?”

More kids trickle into the yard, some with parents, some without. Erik’s grin only gets wider. “Good morning Mrs. Cassidy,” he calls over Alex’s shoulder.

Alex tries to have the earth open up beneath his feet. When his efforts fail, he prays for an alternative. Anything. Martian attack. Third world war. The plagues. Sudden onslaught of chicken pox, for crying out loud!

“Get in the bus,” Erik tells him sweetly. “You wouldn’t want to miss it.”

“If I promise to stay with Mom, can I stay?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. The trip will be educational.”

Alex narrows his eyes and looks to the side, at Raven, who is staring at them with little hearts bouncing in her eyes. “God is punishing me.”

“Preposterous. God has long since ceded the job to me.”

“Excuse me.” Mrs. Cassidy is pulling a distraught looking Sean behind her. “Mr. Xavier tells me you will be chaperoning the trip?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? The kids can be a handful.”

Erik smiles at Mrs. Cassidy and when Alex hears the overture to his “I am an intensely fuckable shark, don’t you want to trust me?” speech, he dives for the bus. Sean follows, because unlike his hapless mother, he has met Erik before. From there they watch the drama unfold.

“He’s really into your mom,” Angel says.

Outside Erik laughs and props the splayed fingers of his right hand on his cocked hip. Mrs. Cassidy leans a little closer to him. If Alex could see her face, he is sure he would see little stars in her eyes.

“My mom’s married, thank you very much,” Sean says.

Angel snorts. “I’d fuck him if I was married. Hell, I’d fuck him if I was a lesbian.”

“Aren’t you a lesbian?”

“Do I look like a lesbian to you?”

“I dunno, but I have photos of your tongue down Raven’s throat. They make a compelling argument.”

“Raven doesn’t count.”

“Raven totally counts,” Raven says, pressing against Angel and blowing a raspberry in her direction, before turning to the window. “I agree. I would totally do him in a heartbeat.”

“I’d take longer, or he wouldn’t go back for more.” Sean grins and evades the mad swipe Raven takes at his head.

Alex slams his face against the backrest. Maybe if he breaks his nose he won’t have to go. That’s not a bad idea: he could give himself a concussion and then Erik would have to take him to the ER and he wouldn’t be able to go on this stupid, stupid trip and end his social life forever.

“Alex?”

Alex turns to get an eyeful of Mr. Xavier’s worried, baby-blue stare. “Are you feeling alright?” His mouth is curved in a worried pout and Alex can just see the apprehension pouring out of every pore of his body. The early morning sunshine, coming through the window, paints his skin pink and brings out the unearthly vivid color of his eyes.

“I’m just sleepy,” he says, and glares at his father, who, somehow, notices. Alex really doesn’t like the look of that face.

“We have a few hours’ worth of a drive ahead of us,” Mr. Xavier says. On the other side of the glass Erik bids Mrs. Cassidy goodbye and boards the bus. “Plenty of time to catch up.”

“Charles,” Erik says. Alex takes one look at him and slams his forehead against the backrest again. There is a clipboard in Erik’s hand and a smirk one his face that looks too benevolent to be genuine. Oh god, he’s plotting someone’s murder, and by the direction of his gaze, Mr. Xavier is his intended victim. Alex freezes. “I’ve got everybody ticked off.”

“Oh, wonderful. We still have fifteen minutes, but if everyone is here we can go.”

The bus starts and, when they hit the highway, Alex feels an intimate sense of kinship with the songwriters of AC/DC. “We are going to hell,” he tells Sean.

“Probably. Hey, did you pack any weed?”

“Not as much as I’m going to need.”

*****

It takes Alex all of three hours to conclude there is not enough weed in the world to get him through this trip. The rest of the time he spends wondering how to rectify the situation.

“I knew you were out to get me to commit ritual suicide,” he tells Erik when they file into the hotel. “I just thought there were more humane ways.”

“I’m out of goats at the moment.”

“I hate you.”

“Yes, but your friend Raven keeps staring at me like I’m made of chocolate and I have seen the things she does to chocolate ice cream. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I could swear she is happy I’m here.”

“Can I murder you in your sleep? Please. You can make it my birthday and Christmas gift.”

“What did I say about murder?”

Alex sighs. “Not to do it unless I can get away with it.”

“Exactly.”

“You could get me off on a technicality though.”

“I could get the victim’s family to apologize for wasting your time, if I so desired. Then again, given your plans that wouldn’t help you, now would it?” Erik slings the duffle bag over his shoulder and looks to Mr. Xavier, who is coming towards them with a handful of keys in hand.

“Alright, Alex, you’ll be rooming with Hank, Armando, you’re with Sean, Raven, this is for you and Angel, Azazel, Janos, and here’s Kitty and Ororo.”

“I hope you get to sleep on the curb,” Alex mutters in Erik’s direction.

“We’re in 62, Erik,” Mr. Xavier says brightly, mindless of the destruction he rains upon Alex’s thus far calm mindset. The man hands over the key to his own personal hell, just like that, like it was nothing, like his whole life didn’t depend on it. “I’ll just finish the paperwork here.”

He is going to be eviscerated, the fool.

“Thank you.” Erik twirls the key on his finger. “Up you go,” he tells the kids.

“So are you going to stand there or are we gonna go up?” Hank asks.

Alex resists the urge to punch him in the face. “What, does your make-up need redoing? Chill the fuck out.”

*****

Against all expectations Mr. Xavier is still alive when everyone assembles in the dining room for dinner. He continues to be persistently alive at supper and, judging by the fact that there are no ice cubes in Alex’s bed the next morning, he is the one going round with the wake-up call, which indicates he survived the night.

Alex withholds judgement until he sees the man, because Erik has been known to fuck with his head from time to time, but Mr. Xavier is cheerful, whole and sipping tea at the breakfast table. Erik is sitting at his side, glaring at his coffee cup.

“I wouldn’t even call it a coffee. It’s an abomination. A slap in the face to the entire industry, insult to generations of fair trade farmers.”

“All the more reason to switch to tea, my friend.”

“Do you know you might be the first person to consider me anyone’s friend before morning coffee? I happen to know that before the second cup I’m considered public enemy number one. My own grandmother leaves the kitchen before I have my coffee.”

“It’s a talent of mine.”

“I’m amazed you’ve lived this long.”

“It’s not the only talent of mine.” Mr. Xavier smiles. “Toast?”

“If it kills the taste of this garbage, certainly.”

“I can’t promise miracles. We might stop by a Starbucks later, if you wish.”

“I said I want coffee, not a cup full of fluffy milk with sprinkles.”

Sean leans across the table, so that his pale face hovers like the moon over his cereal. Alex starts. “They seem to be getting along okay,” Sean says, indicating the two men further down.

Alex spends the rest of the meal watching that end of the table like a hawk. He’s covert about it, he’s the motherfucking James Bond, only less British. He’s chatting up Raven and watching Erik put on the sheepskin and flutter his eyelashes. Oh, he’s got it down, baby! No way Erik’s making a move on his watch. No way in hell.

“Charles is such a slut,” Raven says meanwhile. She has the good sense to be quiet about it, so Alex is the only one who hears. Forget the blatant untruth of the accusation (because Alex has spoken with the man, no way in hell he’s scored half of what Raven claims he has), Mr. Xavier is their teacher. Alex is the only son of a top-notch lawyer, who cares what specialty, so he knows all about slander and the required need to keep one’s tongue under lock and key. “Oh well. At least one of us will get laid.”

A sunflower seed detaches from the bread Alex is chewing and makes a valiant effort to explore the respiratory regions, hitherto untouched by food. Someone slaps his back before he can vomit through his eyeballs and the whole thing ends in a very embarrassing coughing spell.

“Try not to choke at the table,” Erik calls. “It’s unhygienic.”

Alex scowls. Mostly at Raven. “He’s my dad.”

“So what, he’s not allowed to have sex?”

Alex opens his mouth and honestly tries to explain that obviously, it’s his own damn bedroom, he can do whatever he wants, and that Alex knows for a fact Erik is fucking Alex’s mother whenever she’s around, and oddly enough he’s got no beef with that. He’s walked in on enough questionable situations to get the message: parents are people too, and people have sex.

“Raven, if I could pack Erik in a box and give him to you for Christmas, I would,” he says instead, because it’s easier than voicing his misgivings. “But please, I’m begging you, never bring that up again.”

“Huh. Do you think morphine would work?” Raven taps her mouth, looking thoughtful. “There must be a drug of some kind, right?”

“One that induces amnesia, if you plan to live to see the light of next day.”

“Or really good ropes. I bet he’d look good in ropes.”

“He’d mostly look pissed and that wouldn’t be half as hot as you think,” Alex says. Mom has a collection of shibari art photos and more than enough pairs of handcuffs for Alex to know not only that Erik, given a paperclip, can get out of four pairs of handcuffs in under a minute, but also that he doesn’t much like being tied up.

“You know it’s creepy how much you know about his sex life, right?”

“You know it’s creepy how much you know about Charles’?” Alex parrots and dodges a well-aimed bread crust. “At least I have the excuse of Erik not giving a fuck about my peace of mind, what’s yours?”

“We’re only a little related.”

“The same woman gave birth to you both, you’re pretty damn related.”

“At least he’s not my father.” Raven flicks her long hair over he shoulder and straightens her back. Her blouse is open to reveal a low-cut tank top beneath, and a hint of a blue bra. Alex is not ashamed to stare, because her breasts are just that awesome.

“You keep telling yourself that,” he says and grins, dodging yet another projectile.

“Raven…” Mr. Xavier is staring at them and his lip wobbles. “Please. We are among civilized folks here, let’s act it.”

She huffs and rolls her eyes, but turns to Angel. Alex smiles at Mr. Xavier and glares at his father simultaneously, which ends up seriously confounding his facial muscles.

*****

“You realize stalking is illegal,” Hank whispers directly into Alex’s ear. The warm air sends shivers down Alex’s spine, ruffling some hitherto undiscovered inner hair inside his chest. Alex can’t wait to get into medicine and start cutting people open. Somewhere inside there is the answer to the mystery of the fluttering gushes he feels every time Hank stands too close, and damn if he isn’t going to find it.

“It’s not stalking if we live together, right? Besides, I’m just keeping watch.” Hank is a comforting presence against his shoulder -- most of all, he’s warm, and Alex has been crouching on the shadowed stone for far too long. His ass is numb, to start with.

“On whom?”

“Abraham Lincoln.” Alex makes a show of looking over his shoulder, but no, Abe’s sitting where he’s sat for ages now. “Seems to be doing well for himself.”

“I didn’t think you were a fan of chess.”

“Fan of what?”

Hank smiles his squirrelly smile and points. “I’ve watched them play a little, they are good.”

“I never got chess. I know Erik’s really good at it, though.”

“You don’t play?”

“Not well enough to be a challenge to a kindergartner.” Alex looks down at the casual way Mr. Xavier is sprawled on the stairs, the easy brightness of the smile, Erik’s smirk (this he infers from posture, rather than sees, because the most he can see of Erik’s face is the hint of grey at his temple) and the lake shimmering between them.

The weather is changing, however. The sun is trying its best, but the rays of light stand out against the bruising mass of cumulonimbi, which close in on the city. Alex hears the first gushes of wind and far in the distance he sees the lightning strike, splitting the sky directly between Mr. Xavier and Erik.

“If that’s not a sign from god, I don’t know what is,” Alex says as he gets up.

“What? What sign?”

“Never mind.”

Mr. Xavier sits up and stands, extending a hand to Erik. He says something, obviously a joke by the way the corner of his lips curls into his cheek and shakes his head.

Alex bemoans the naivete of school teachers, then Erik takes the proffered hand and as he stands Alex sees the look on his face. Erik looks _hungry_. His teeth are bared in a smile and his gaze is fixed on the back of Mr. Xavier’s head.

This is what terror must feel like, Alex thinks, as he stares at Erik, who is still watching Mr. Xavier. Erik, who is channelling the ice ages of gruesome battles for survival into a single stare of supernova intensity.

“Hank,” Alex says, as his heart does flopping motions inside his chest. He remembers the stare. He has watched a cat play with a mouse before. “We need to save Mr. Xavier.”

Hank, to his credit, doesn’t ask stupid questions. He doesn’t protest. He just nods. “Okay… What’s your plan?”

Alex can only stare. He’s not one for planning. Never was. He’s the guy who rushes in and yells, sometimes sets things on fire, then deals with the fallout. Nine times out of ten setting the problem on fire does away with it, and the resulting other problem (the fire) is manageable by more physical means.

If all troubles could be solved by a fire extinguisher, Alex would be a happy man. He could go round solving any and all issues by setting shit on fire and then swooping in to save the day with a bright red extinguisher, because not a single fuck is given about the pesky details of broken hearts when a handsome stranger with a fire extinguisher appears to put out a fire.

“Alex,” Hank says. “The plan?”

“Working on it.” He could set the hotel on fire and frame Erik. That could work. He knows his way around a bucket of gasoline, thanks to a very enlightening three hours spent with Erik in an empty parking lot (God, Alex can’t help but adore Erik with all of his heart, sometimes, because to a fourteen year old there is nothing more beautiful than an explosion). He could easily plant the evidence in Erik’s room, then Erik would be arrested and promptly sentenced, and then he would be carted off to some remote, government-controlled location and left there, until Mr. Xavier settled down and got himself a squad of bodyguards and moved to a thinly populated island in the Pacific.

Alex considers his triumphant victory parade in his head, but whatever he does Erik is there; he stands off to the side with his arms folded across his chest and a handful of red balloons in his hand and he is grinning. Fuck. The plan would require putting Erik in court, in front of a judge and jury.

Alex has seen Erik go to court, once, on Mom’s behest. Her business was facing a lawsuit over something really silly, Alex couldn’t recall what it was, because he was ten then, and it was the first time he saw his parents for when they truly were. They sat together at the table, Mom in an immaculate snow-white suit, Dad in charcoal grey, and when Erik casually leaned against the table and began his speech, Alex saw the counsel opposing them drown in his own sweat and tears.

No. Erik in court was not a good plan, ever.

Back to the drawing board, then.

*****

“Three most common causes of mutation,” Alex mumbles into his forearm, “are insertion, deletion and mismatch.” Hell. Stupid Mr. Xavier. Stupid shorthand. Stupid red ink.

He blinks tiredly at his notes and shoves them off his bed. Stupid goddamned college biology. Stupid Mr. Xavier, for taking them all the way to DC for a lecture by the grandfather of all knowledge of genetics.

Stupid Mr. Xavier for assigning papers on the goddamned subject.

Somewhere below a door slams and Alex sits up.

“Dad?” he asks when he gets downstairs.

Erik glares at him. He’s still wearing his impeccable work suit, his hair is neatly combed over his forehead, and the tie could be used as a ruler, because the edges of the knot are an exercise in perfection. He looks like a million dollars in a suitcase. “What?”

His face, on the other hand, is locked in an expression of anger far outside the limits of professional setbacks.

“What the hell happened?” Alex asks, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Erik jerks on his tie. The knots comes unravelled at his fingertips and the tie crumples to the floor in a dead faint. Even Erik’s wardrobe is smart, Alex thinks, playing dead while the storm is raging. “Sebastian fucking Shaw,” he says by way of explanation and falls silent. The angry vibes start rattling the furniture, however, so Alex moves to the kitchen and gets out a bottle of whiskey. After a moment’s thought he puts a pot on the stove and gets the milk, too.

It takes a while, but when he goes back he is holding a huge mug of hot chocolate, which is about one-third milk, one-third whiskey, a dollop of honey and the rest of it the blackest chocolate known to mankind. He holds it out as both a shield and a white flag.

“How bad was it?” he asks, though he mostly wants to know what happened, because the name doesn’t ring too many bells. Erik snorts at him and makes a face, but drains half of the cup in one go.

“I wanted to kill the fucker in school, but now? Now I want to eviscerate him.”

“Won’t that kill him, too?”

“It’s not so much the fact, but the manner of his demise,” Erik tells him and falls into the chair with a sigh. He cradles the mug in his hands and sips at it.

It’s weird; every book Alex has read in his life insisted that a man with a mug of hot cocoa in his hands should look fluffy and harmless and squishable. Erik looks like a shark with teeth stained by a brown, coagulated substance. Shows what literature knows about life, really.

“Murder is still illegal.”

“Damn shame. The more time I have to spend with the man, the more I regret homosexuality being taken off the WHO disease list. He’s a fucking menace. If I could pick up a phone and watch them put him in a straight jacket and into isolation, I would.”

Okay. “Uh. What?”

Erik lets out a long breath. “Never mind. I really want to punch someone, and I can’t punch him, because the son of a bitch has connections. Or, knowing him, incriminating photos of connected people.”

“Who’s that Shaw guy, anyway?”

“He was my thesis advisor. Now he’s brokering my motherfucking deal from the other motherfucking side.”

“So, you’re saying he’s better than you.”

“So, you want to live without your spleen?”

“I’m not seeing the problem, really. He’s a douchebag, I get it, but so are you.”

“The problem is that he is a fucking pervert and wants in my pants,” Erik sing-songs and puts the mug on the table. “I swear to god, if I ever see his disgusting queer face after I wipe the floor with it, I will break something expensive.”

Alex opens his mouth and then closes it. He might not be Mr. Sensitive, or even Mr. I Sense Something Vaguely Emotional, So I Will Cautiously Inch Away, but he knows issues when he sees them.

“Can’t you get a restraining order?” he asks.

“Not until he starts showing up naked in my bed, I can’t.”

“Seriously? You’re gonna let that stop you? What kind of a lawyer are you?”

“Restraining orders are not equivalent to flipping someone the bird. It takes honest effort and a prosecutable reason to procure one.”

“I could maybe slash his tires,” Alex says. “Harass him a little. Show up naked in his bed. Then he’d have to take a restraining order against me. Since I live with you, then he can’t show up here, right?”

Erik guffaws. “I will keep that in mind,” he says when he calms down.

“I could set his car on fire.”

“You will stay right here.”

“Come on, douchebags deserve some comeuppance, right? A slashed tire is the least we can do.”

“Alex.” Erik picks up the mug and drains the last of the chocolate. “Don’t. He’s a fucking disgusting excuse for a human being, which is exactly why you will give him a wide berth. Are we clear on this?”

Alex shrugs. It’s not like he doesn’t trust Erik to make that guy cry if he tries anything. Things being what they are, he should probably seek out this Shaw character and console him over the horror he is about to rain down upon his own head, by hitting on Erik.

He forgets about it until the next month, when Erik doesn’t return home Sunday night. Sure, he calls, but Alex spends the lonely evening biting his fingernails. Erik is staying the night at Mr. Xavier’s place, which is bad, so bad.

He doesn’t fully realize how bad until he gets to school on Monday and Raven is waxing poetry to the perfection of Erik’s abdominal muscles.

“So you’re saying Erik stayed the night and stripped for your viewing pleasure?” he asks as he sits down.

Hank chokes on his sandwich.

“I can hope, but no. I just caught him when he went to shower and let me tell you, I have never been this glad that the guest rooms have a shared bathroom in the corridor,” Raven rambles on and Alex starts hitting his forehead against the table.

“Why was he staying over, anyway?” Sean asks.

“They were playing a very enthusiastic game of chess and then it got late.”

Angel grins a very nasty grin. “Did they fuck?”

“Not for a lack of trying. Charles fancies Erik something awful. It’s very nearly adorable, how smitten he is.”

That’s it. Alex stands up. “My dad and Mr. Xavier are not fucking. They are not. Not now. Not ever! Got that?” God, the very idea! Erik would rip Mr. Xavier to tiny shreds for hitting on him. Tiny, well-chewed shreds.

“Relax, will you?” Angel licks a speck of mayo of her finger. “What’s gotten your panties in a twist, that your dad might get laid? Because, dude, Mr. Xavier is a hot piece of ass.”

“It might seem like fun and games to you, but I’ve got to live in the same house as that guy. If he’s going to fuck his way through the faculty, couldn’t he at least start with MacTaggart?”

There is a brief silence. Raven is red in the face and looks like she might explode any minute. Angel bites her lip and stares at the table, along with Hank and Sean.

“Alex,” someone says behind him.

Oh fuck. Alex closes his eyes. “Principal MacTaggart.”

“My office, if you don’t mind.”

“Busted,” Raven murmurs into her food.

Alex catches Hank’s eye when he leaves the cafeteria. He shrugs -- he can handle chewing out and detention -- but Hank is worried. Alex resolves to give him a call later that evening.

He sinks into the chair in front of the principal’s desk and hangs his head. “Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to.”

“I rather hope so.” Ms. MacTaggart raises an eyebrow and smiles at him. “Do you want to tell me what brought this on?”

“Uh… my dad is really lonely?”

“Am I supposed to consider this a matchmaking attempt?”

This doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Alex brightens. This sounds like a godsend, actually. “Would you? He’s really handsome, I’m told.”

Principal MacTaggart sputters. “You cannot be serious.”

“One date! It can’t be that bad, right? He’s really smart, besides. He’s a lawyer.”

She watches him with her mouth open. Alex smiles winsomely. She is a fantastic woman -- tough, pretty and capable of killing a man with her pinky, if the rumors about her being ex-military are true. Erik needs someone like that. Someone who won’t allow themselves to be eaten alive.

It’s a stroke of genius, if he says so himself.

She picks up the phone with one hand and types something into her computer with the other. “Mr. Lehnsherr?” she says after three rings. “This is Moira MacTaggart. I have Alex in the office right now.”

Alex hears the sigh as if his own ear was against the phone. “What’s he done now? If he set anything on fire, please alert the authorities and let me know where they’re taking him.”

“Nothing quite so serious.” The principal looks at Alex and grins. “He offered me a date with you.”

Erik says nothing.

“Apparently you are lonely, handsome and smart,” she continues, and looks at Alex over the desk. He knows that look. She’s calling his bluff.

“He did, didn’t he.” Erik grins into the receiver, Alex doesn’t need to be present to know that. “Well then, he is technically still a minor and I am obliged to own up to his foolhardy behavior. Would you like to go out with me on Friday?”

“Since you ask so nicely.”

“I’ll pick you up at eight then,” Erik says. “Feel free to slap Alex with a detention until then.”

“Duly noted.”

She ends the phone call and Alex beams innocently. “Awesome. I’m totally okay with you dating my dad, just so you know. I’ll get out of the house Friday night, shall I?”

Principal MacTaggart looks at him with a very odd expression on her face. It’s not quite a smile, but there is a touch of amusement there; it’s not quite a frown, either, even if she seems perplexed. “Alex,” she says slowly. “You know we are just going out for dinner. It’s not exactly a proposal.”

“I know, just keep an open mind about it, alright? My dad’s quite cool, when you get to know him.” He can’t help it if he sounds a little desperate. He grabs the guilt that’s clawing at him from within by the scruff of its neck and sits on its head. Principal MacTaggart is tough, she can handle Erik’s bullshit. She managed to subdue Azazel by glaring at him, after all. No way is she going down because of Erik. Mr. Xavier though…

Point being, Alex has the fucking Satan as his grandsire. He is capable of triage. Not that anything will happen to Principal MacTaggart, of course not.

He squashes down the guilt, shoves its head into the mud, grins and casts the very pleasant woman to the sharks. She can swim and she has a gun, he reasons. She will survive.

*****

Friday arrives as per usual. Alex watches it roll onto the front of the calendar with trepidation.

Erik returns home at quarter past six, not unusual for Friday evenings. He showers and flops onto the couch in a bathrobe. Again, perfectly normal. It’s worrying. He’s supposed to be going out on a date.

“Do you need anything?” Alex asks.

“Like what?”

“Help?”

“From you?”

“I could check online.”

Erik shoots him a look. “For what?”

“I don’t know, when was the last time you were on a date?”

“Since when do you care?”

Alex crosses his arms. “Maybe I really need a mom.”

“You have a mother.”

“No, I have Emma. She’s not exactly a mom.”

“Took you long enough to bring this to my attention. You’re going to college next autumn. I fail to see how a new mother at home will impact your life.”

“It’s an emotional time for me.”

Erik grins. “Are you set on Moira?”

“You’re on a first-name basis already? Cool.” This is promising indeed. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

“What do you want me to do, put on make up?”

“Kohl is really hot these days.”

“It doesn’t bother you that I might score with your principal?”

“Why? She’s pretty hot. Do you want me to get out of the house?”

Erik shakes his head and gets up. “I’ll keep you posted.” He emerges from his bedroom an hour later, looking like a very sharp knife with a smile to match. He’s clean-shaven, which is promising -- stubble might attract women, but making out suffers for it, in Alex’s experience. Good. This night might end happily after all. “Behave,” Erik says in the door, then he is gone.

Suffice to say Alex spends the evening camped out in front of his cell phone. Too bad Erik returns three minutes after midnight, alone. Alex tries not to show his disappointment.

“How did it go?”

“Well. We had dinner, chatted about your stunted emotional development and the abysmal state of the school system in this country.”

Alex waits. “And?”

“And what?”

“She didn’t put out?”

“You are over-invested in my sex life, did you know that?”

“I have to be over-invested in something and football is boring.”

“You really don’t.”

“Are you going out again?”

Erik sighs. “Look. It’s nice that you care, but don’t hold your breath for a new mom at this point. I’m fine with the way things are.”

“You said it went well.”

“I spent a pleasant evening in the company of an intelligent woman. The food could have been better, though.” Erik shrugs and yeah, he’s relaxed and fine, Alex sees that, but he is also flat. Disinterested. Nothing at all like he is with Emma sometimes. Parsecs away from the hungry intensity he adopted since he started hanging around Mr. Xavier.

“Fuck,” Alex says. “Fuckity fuck.”

“If you like the woman so much, why don’t you ask her out?”

“It’s because of Mr. Xavier, isn’t it?” Alex balls his hands into fists and grits his teeth. “He’s the reason you’re not really into Principal MacTaggart.”

“No,” Erik tells him. “I’m not into Moira, because we managed to have three very clandestine fights in the space of an hour and restoring friendly relations took us the rest of the evening. Charles has nothing to do with it.”

“Yeah, right.”

Erik crosses his arms and waits.

“It’s just… I’ve seen the way you look at him and I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“You don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be friends with a man who teaches you?” Erik smirks. Either Alex is seeing things, or his poker face slips for a second, because he could swear Erik looks nervous. It shakes him to the core. “Or is it the British accent that you find hard to stomach? I find it cute.”

“Xavier is a fag!” Alex yells when Erik pauses for breath.

He ends up chocking. “Excuse me?”

“Xavier is a fag, Raven told me.” Alex hugs himself and scowls. Lying to Erik is always a risk, partially because he normally could tell, but mostly because he is a real hard ass about not doing it. He feels justified. If Erik spends any more time with Xavier people would start to talk and then Alex will have a gay dad and everyone will assume he is queer too, and that would be bad.

It would be very bad. End of the world bad. He projects that aura as loud as he can. Thank god for acting classes.

Besides, it isn’t really a lie, Raven did say Mr. Xavier was a total slut in his college years and had flings with guys, too. The info was worth the brain bleach it took to process. Method acting, Alex tells himself. Believe the emotion and it will be true.

Erik is giving him a look. The poker face is back on, and Alex can see jack-shit from his face. “What’s your point?”

Alex chokes on his tongue. “What do you mean, what’s my point? He’s gay! And you’re spending time with him! Do you know how that looks?”

“Right now it looks like you have a problem,” Erik says slowly. “Did he come on to you?” Bless the evil fucker, he sounds concerned. Alex rolls his eyes. Nice try, Dad.

“No, of course not.”

“Then what?”

Alex flounders. He’s been so sure Erik would have a problem with the gay thing. “Well, you know. He’s queer,” he finished lamely.

Erik purses his lips, but the crinkling corners of his eyes tell Alex he is laughing at him. “Yes, thank you for this crash course in youth discourse on homosexuality. I think I grasp the concept now.”

“You don’t have a problem with it?” Isn’t that a damn surprise, after the Shaw debacle.

“He plays a mean game of chess, I would forgive much more for that,” Erik says and shrugs. “God knows I did everything in my power to avoid raising you, but at least try to act like you are somewhat civilized.” He smirks. “You know what, never mind. Go and try to raise hell over your teacher being gay. Bring it up with Moira, especially. I want to see the fallout.”

“Fuck you, who do you think I am?” Alex waves his hands in the air and scowls. As if. There’s no way in hell Alex is gonna go make trouble for Mr. Xavier, he likes the man far too much, and that’s discounting the fact that Principal MacTaggart, despite the bimbo figure, can tear a guy apart for bullying with her pinky, be it teacher or student.

No, raising hell for Mr. Xavier would be worse than kicking puppies, because puppies, despite their cuteness, don’t wear their wounded souls in their blue eyes. Alex would really rather eat puppies raw than hurt Mr. Xavier, in any way. It is a little pathetic, but he is vindicated by the fact that Azazel, who is the meanest bastard in the school, has been seen voluntarily cutting out golden stars for Mr. Xavier to hand out to kids during the school festival.

The alternative to hurting his feelings, however, is throwing him to the sharks, by which Alex means his dad, who is the unholy offspring of the shark mother from Jaws Four and Satan himself. Alex is normally very proud of his parentage, because it means Satan is his grandfather, but in this particular case he wishes the world was less grey and more full of bona fide heroes, so that his spawn of hell parents would have been slaughtered before they decided to fornicate and Mr. Xavier wouldn’t face the risk of being eaten alive in short order.

Because that’s what has to happen, doesn’t it? Mr. Xavier is just so nice, and Alex, god damn it, likes him, and his dad is a spawn of Cthulu with no human feelings whatsoever, and therefore this can only end in disaster.

Alex runs his head through his hair. He loves his dad and he is reasonably certain his dad loves him. Somewhat. Stockholm and Lima, he tells himself, are very odd cities and he supposes he has them to thank for the emotional attachment. So yeah, it’s not like he wants the man to be miserable and alone, but the thing is, Alex knows just enough about people to know Erik is not _good_. Because come on, he’s enough of a bastard that Alex’s mom, the woman who singlehandedly destroyed more businesses than the recession, doesn’t want him, and that right there is a big clue. So he is totally wrong for Mr. Xavier, who is nice like a Sunday cartoon whose theme song is _Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows_.

Alright. Alright. He can fix this.

He is relatively certain he is thinking straight when he slinks back to his room, to wallow in the gloomy promise of Mr. Xavier’s swift demise. He’s not left to wallow for long, however, because soon enough he hears footsteps on the stairs.

“You better not be jerking off,” Erik says and opens the door with a cursory brush of knuckles against the wood.

“Could you be any more of a creep?”

“I don’t know, but I will look into it.” Erik pulls out his wallet and hands him a hundred.

“What’s this?”

“A hundred dollars. What does it look like?”

“Why?”

“Condom fund.”

“Dad!”

“Don’t knock it. I went through that phase in high school, too. Passing a queer on the street is a frightening experience, makes you think it catches, then you go and fuck the first willing girl and the next thing you know you’ve a screaming brat on your shoulder and no future.”

Alex listens to the tirade with his mouth open.

“What, you didn’t seriously think you’re the product of puppy love, did you?”

Alex is fairly sure he will never again in his life utter another sound. It’s not like he wasn’t informed he was an accident, hell, he has seen Erik’s driving license, and he knows how to subtract. Seventeen year olds aren’t exactly well-known for planned parenthood. There’s a staggering difference between being an accident and being the product of a gay crisis, however. No wonder Erik gets a violent rash whenever a man hits on him.

“Have you met your mother? I mean, have you ever spoken with her, or did you spend all your time trying to remember sucking on her breasts?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Dad!” The mental pictures, fuck!

Erik is laughing and if there was any doubts whatsoever as to his parentage, Alex has lost it now. God knows how he got the conscience he has, but he did. He is so doomed it isn’t even funny.

“You’re not getting a raise of your allowance, mind. This is for condoms only, so be sure to collect receipts.” Erik pauses in the door and looks over his shoulder. “Oh, and Emma called. She wants you to scare a boyfriend away next weekend. There might be a car in it for you, so hold out on her.”

The worst thing, Alex thinks as he stares dumbly at the crisp, green hundred on his dresser, is that his parents are the envy of his classmates. The more he protests what horrible people they are, citing events such as this one, the more offers of switching he gets. It’s like they don’t understand what it’s like, to have the Shark Satan for a dad and the White Witch for a mother.

Alex sighs and gets his cell.

“Hey, Mom,” he says when she picks up.

“Alex, dear. How is life?”

“Dad is ruining it. He just gave me a hundred to spend on condoms.”

“Tell him to give you another. I’ll pay him back later. Now, how do you feel about Thanksgiving in Miami?”

Alex listens and his mom is the only person he knows who is scarier than his dad, but her ideas for a fun trip are out of this world.

So, okay, his life is really not that bad.


	2. Chapter 2

Alex is not really good at subterfuge, and by not good he of course means he doesn’t know what subterfuge even means. Things worth doing need doing in broad daylight, possibly also at the top of one’s voice. This logic drives him to Mr. Xavier’s classroom after the period is over.

“Hey, Professor, can I have a word, please? It’s uh. Personal.”

“Certainly.” Mr. Xavier smiles, looking up from his pile of notes. “Can I help you?”

“You need to stop seeing my dad,” Alex says before he sits, or rather collapses into a chair opposite.

Mr. Xavier looks surprised. He blinks and folds his hands across the papers. “Please elaborate.”

Alex growls in frustration and starts messing up his hair. “Just, you know. I don’t think it’s a good idea, for you two to be friends. Or anything.” His voice hitches on the final part and, god, it sounds like the clumsiest sex reference he has ever uttered and he’s the guy to whom the “snorkeling for cookies” quote is attributed.

Mr. Xavier blushes. It’s so adorable Alex wants to puke. “I see you have been talking to Raven.”

Alex turns red. “Look, it’s not-”

“I promise you, your father’s virtue is quite safe.” He looks disappointed and a little scared and Alex has just kicked his way out of a truckload of puppies, because Mr. Xavier is looking at him with those innocent blue eyes that seem completely unreal.

Alex feels like crap. “That’s not! I. Uh. Look, I don’t care, okay? No problem. Really. I’m all for people sleeping with my dad, he needs more targets, hell, he needs the endorphins. I need blackmail material, if nothing else.” This is bloody embarrassing, but at least Mr. Xavier is smiling again.

“Well, if you are not worried I would despoil him…”

“I’m more worried about what he’s going to do to you,” Alex mutters before he can stop himself.

Mr. Xavier looks confused, so Alex braces himself and says, as clearly as he can, “My dad is evil.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Alex leans forward. “He is evil. Actually evil. Evil like Megan Fox. Possibly worse.”

“More evil than Megan Fox?”

“Or worse.” Alex tries to impress the meaning by the sheer force of his glare. It seems to work for a moment, then Mr. Xavier just looks amused.

“I’m certain he seems that way.”

“He’s not looking like a demon out of hell for nothing. Ten times out of ten if a guy looks like he might bite vital organs out of your body cavity, chances are it’s not a coincidence, even if he sparkles in the sun! He’s not vegetarian, either.”

Mr. Xavier winces at that. “I will respect your literary choices, but please, if you must compare me to a flustered teenager, can it at least be a boy? Regardless of Raven’s tales, which I really will have words with her about, I don’t think I can be compared to a smitten adolescent girl.”

“It’s got werewolves in it, s’all. Werewolves are cool,” Alex mutters. “Anyway.”

“Anyway?”

“Erik is evil. Please, please don’t see him again. He probably eats babies when I’m not looking. I have yet to find any tiny skeletons, but I haven’t been looking, exactly, because I don’t want to know, because then I might have to testify against him and he is my dad and then I might have to live with my mom, who is even worse.”

“Your concern is touching. However believe me when I say I can take care of myself.”

“Have you ever been attacked by a flock of rabid bulldozers who want to rip you to shreds and then kill you and hang your corpse in the back of their closets?”

“I think you may mean bulldogs.”

“I know what I said.”

“Then no, I confess, I haven’t had the pleasure.”

“Dad did that to a guy once. I mean, the guy did hit me, so I guess he had it coming, but it was bad. For the guy.”

“Really?”

“Erik is fucking evil!” Alex slaps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to say that.”

“I hope not.” Mr. Xavier is still looking at him and Alex, despite everything, fidgets. “Unfortunately, I can’t make the promise I won’t see your father again. We are adults and we enjoy each other’s company.” He raises his hand just as Alex tries to speak. “And believe me, this is a purely intellectual matter. We are both well-read, educated and whatever differences there are in our world views, I’m sure you understand that a healthy argument can be more satisfying than being in complete agreement.”

“You do know what Erik does for a living, right?”

“He’s a lawyer.”

“He’s a corporate lawyer and he’s earning buckets of cash, which means he’s got no human feelings whatsoever. He’s what sharks would be if they could breathe oxygen and had hair.”

“Am I that colossal a failure as a teacher?”

“What?”

“Alex, I understand it was quite a while ago, but fish do breathe oxygen.”

“That’s not the point!”

“All right. Your point is, your father is evil, because of the job he does successfully, is that it?”

“No, my point is that he is evil and that’s the reason he’s as good as he is at his job. The only reason I’m convinced he isn’t a serial killer is that he doesn’t like doing the laundry and I would have noticed the bloodstains.”

“Forgive me, but Erik is a very intelligent man. I’m sure if that was his secondary career, he would be smart enough to use the laundromat and not bring his washing home.”

“He never carries change. Says the jiggling bothers him.”

“I presume spare change can be easily donated, or even fed into a vending machine.”

“So you agree he could be a serial killer.”

“If the only piece of evidence against the theory you have is that he doesn’t like laundry, then yes, he very well could be.”

Sadly, that made sense.

“And you still want to see him?”

“I’m sure you’d agree that serial killers have some fascinating stories to tell.”

Mr. Xavier looks at him with a bright smile and Alex feels around his pocket for a needle filled of anesthetic. He’s disappointed when his hand comes up empty. It would be grand if he could jab Mr. Xavier with it, pack him in a crate filled with wool, ship him over to some tiny peaceful Asian country, so that he could live the rest of his life with a tea cosy on his head, surrounded by little woolly sheep who’d go baa and shit rainbows.

“I’m pretty sure that when he was in high school every single father pointed him out to his daughter and said, ‘that dude is bad news’. I know my grandfather did. My mom didn’t listen, and bam, nine months later she had me. Not that I’m bad, or anything, but Erik says I was a screamer and she says I ruined her best bikini season.”

Mr. Xavier smiles. “Well then. You can consider me warned. Let’s agree that whatever misfortune your father brings on my head will be my fault.”

Alex considers revisiting his infancy and screaming, because no, it will not be his fault, and anyway the fault isn’t the point! The point is to stop anything from happening altogether.

It seems, however, that convincing Mr. Xavier that someone on god’s green earth is not a decent human being, deep down, might just be on the wrong side of the possible line.

“I just don’t want him to hurt you,” he mutters as he gathers his things and gets up. “Please be careful?”

“Thank you, Alex. I will keep that in mind.”

Alex cuts classes that day and spends the afternoon wandering around town. He has a serious moral obligation here, and moral obligations are fucking important. He can live without English lit for an afternoon. Hank is going to be there and he takes notes like a machine. Alex can always claim he was ill. It’s an emergency, after all. Dad would agree. Eventually.

The problem with solving the issue is, he’s not Erik. He’s not Emma. He’s smart, sure, but he’s a football player. Not even a quarterback at that.

“It’s fucked up,” he tells the sky above the grassy hill. Hollywood’s life lessons fail him, yet again, as no light bulb comes to life over his head.

He returns home in a foul mood. Fortunately, Erik is up for a trip to the gym, where they spend the evening knocking the crap out of each other in the boxing ring. Alex is too exhausted to think when they get back home.

Then he has a thought. So Erik may be willing to ignore the gay thing in favor of awesome chess skills, because god knows he has no friends at all and the computer chess games kill him with boredom, but he’s not exactly pride parade material. In fact, Alex thinks, a little heartened, the last time anything even remotely sounding like gay pride parade showed up on the news, Erik taught him a few valuable curse-words in German.

So… if he maybe managed to get Erik to cuss out someone for being gay in front of Mr. Xavier, then this whole embarrassing mess would be over.

Alex brightens and grins at his window. It makes sense. It totally does. He is out the door and halfway down the street before he can even come down from the heights of his own genius.

“Hank!” Alex hisses, throwing rocks at the window. He knows Hank is awake, because it’s not even midnight yet and the flickering light of the computer screen inside is painting the ceiling blue. “Bozo!”

Finally the window opens. “What?”

“Can I come in?”

“Can’t you use the doorbell, like a normal person?”

“Whatever. Can I come in?”

Hank rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

“Okay, this is going to sound crazy,” Alex says when they are in Hank’s room and the door is closed. “But how do you feel about making out with me?”

Hank turns beet red and stammers something stupid.

“It’s a legitimate question!”

“How is it a legitimate question?”

“How is it not?” Alex folds his arms. “Didn’t you have a crush on me?”

“It was in second grade! You can’t hold that over me forever.”

“Come on, it won’t be that bad.”

Hank slaps his hands over his face. He is red, his glasses are askew, and he is, altogether, adorable. “What the hell brought this on.”

Alex falters. This a little difficult to explain. “You know how my dad is kind of the unholy spawn of Jaws and Satan?”

Hank raises a brow, but nods. Alex breathes. Of all his friends Hank is the only one to understand the primeval evil that Erik represents. The rest of them think he is cool, like Dracula or something. They cower before him, but they think he’s cool. Morons.

“Well, I think Mr. Xavier has a crush on him.”

Hank flails, then pauses. “Wait, and that has to do with us making out, how?”

“Dad’s kinda homophobic. If I can get him to make a scene, maybe Xavier will stop having the crush, because it’s hard to have a crush on someone who thinks you’re sick. I think.”

Hank looks at him and his gaze is flat like Nicole Richie’s sunken chest. “You want me to make out with you in front of your homophobic, evil dad, in order for him to make a scene.”

Alex has to admit, it sounds bad. Scratch bad. It sounds suicidal.

“He’ll kill me! He’ll bury me in my own yard so that my mom can plant flowers there and walk our dog all over my dead body!”

“Don’t be a moron,” Alex protests weakly, though yeah, this is exactly what Erik would do. Then he’d become Hank’s mom’s best friend, so that he could drop in unannounced and admire his handiwork while she brought him coffee.

Hank is silent. “Okay, all evil aside, you gotta realize he’s not going to buy it. For one thing, you’re straight. Assuming you can act like you are into it, what makes you think he’ll believe you? He does have a sense of humor. He’ll assume it’s a prank.”

Alex didn’t plan that far. “It’s hard to argue with empirical evidence, right?”

“He’s a lawyer, he gets paid to know when people are lying to him.”

“He gets paid to lie on behalf of people.”

“No offense, but I’ve been to your house. If he gets paid enough to afford that, you are out of his league when it comes to lying.”

“He is the Big Bad Wolf. And Xavier is Red Riding Hood, skipping mindlessly into the forest with a basket of goodies on his arm and a bull’s eye on his back. He’s gonna get slaughtered and it will be our fault for letting it happen.”

“You might have an overactive imagination.”

“Yeah. Remember when I dated Cecilia?”

“I haven’t heard from her in a while.”

“That’s because Erik decided she was a bad influence. He ran her out of the house. I think her whole family moved to Michigan.”

Hank bites his lip, rubs his nose, dislodging his glasses in the process, and it’s oddly endearing. Alex looks away. Damn Hank.

“You know, it’s perfectly normal to have a crush on your teacher.”

“What?” Alex is certain his expression cannot be more stupid. “No! That’s totally not it!”

“Right.” Hank smiles and Alex really wants to hit him, so instead he leans forward. Their lips bump together, then their noses. Hank’s mouth opens a little in surprise and Alex gets an eyeful of glasses. He licks his lips, and by sheer accident of proximity Hank’s as well, and somehow after that they end up making out. It’s purely fucking coincidental.

It’s awesome.

“Uh,” Alex says, fifteen minutes later, when footsteps in the corridor make them spring apart. “Is this a bad time to say I might not be entirely straight?” It’s a reasonable assumption to make, what with the crazy awesome high he gets from digging his fingers into Hank’s back, so that he feels all of the very flat chest against his, and his thoughts happily board the southbound train with pompoms and rainbow flags.

“It’s going to help your crazy scheme.” Hank is flushed and panting a little.

“Fuck the scheme,” Alex says. The footsteps are gone and he sweeps in for another kiss.

“Wait. Seriously?” Hank sits up a little too quick and nearly breaks Alex’s nose with his forehead. “You know your dad is going to kill you. Probably.” Hank considers. “I mean, how do you even know he’s homophobic?”

“Mainly it was the very loud ‘fucking faggot’ tangent he went on when that one guy he knew from Law school propositioned him. That and. hello, he has sex with my mom, whenever she’s in town and single. Don’t ask me how I know, but yeah. You have seen my mom.”

“I hate to break it to you, but everyone has seen you mom. I think half the football team has her photo in their lockers.”

Right. Damn Playboy spreads. Alex sighs. “So are you in, or what?”

“Saving Mr. Xavier from your evil dad? Sure. Shouldn’t we tell Raven, though?”

“Are you crazy? She’s thrilled about the whole thing. She’s probably installing cameras all over Mr. Xavier’s house, for when Erik comes over.”

“Your dad is very attractive.” Hank looks contemplative for a moment and Alex wants to deck him.

“Like a forest fire. All hot and shining from a mile off, then you walk over and it’s bloody panic and the smell of burning woodland creatures. Except no, that’s not accurate, unless we were talking about a sentient fire that actively went after the squirrels and bit their fuzzy little heads off!”

“He’s your dad!” Hank says in a scandalized whisper.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t know he’s evil.”

“I can’t help but feel you are overreacting. People aren’t evil like that. Not outside of Batman movies.”

“If this was a Batman movie, Erik would have the bat gutted and hanged by his intestine in ten minutes. Then it would be Erik, the criminal mastermind movie.”

“What does that make you, the knight in the shining armor?”

“Someone’s got to be,” Alex says decisively. It makes him feel a little better. Chivalry will not die if he has to CPR the post-modernism out of it, and he is all for being the hero. Heroism is cool.

“Besides, what if you are wrong? He might like Mr. Xavier. Everyone does. I don’t think it’s humanly possible to dislike Mr. Xavier. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“Hank, don’t take this the wrong way, but your world view is that of a Disney Princess. Real people are mean fuckers, alright? And if the mean fuckers ever got around to having elections, Erik would be voted king, on the basis that he would have slaughtered the competition and left their corpses in the dumpster.”

Hank is giving him a look. Alex sighs and shuts down his mental faculties with another kiss. “Are you with me on this, or not?”

“I’m not saying I’ll risk my life to make out with you,” Hank says. “But okay, if you want to put me at risk of grievous bodily harm by pretending to date me, I’m in.”

Alex gives this a moment of thought. “We could try dating for real. I mean, what’s the harm, right?”

“Grievous bodily?”

“Besides that.”

“Since when are you at all interested in dating me?”

“Since half an hour ago. Do you want to, or not?”

“On the basis that you might not be straight? I’ve got to tell you, I’ve been propositioned before, and this makes the second least sensible proposition I had.”

“On the basis that you know how to fucking kiss, okay? I’ll make it worth your while, come on. Movies, dinners, you name it, you got it. I’ve a condom fund now.” Alex rocks back, so that he’s sitting on his haunches and stares. He has an inkling Hank’s crush isn’t fully gone, they’ve been friends for long enough that Alex just knows Hank’s got a soft spot for him. God knows it got him into enough trouble, over the years. Alex is not above using that now, because hey, at least they should try, right? “It’s not like we don’t get along, anyway. There’s no reason we can’t kill two birds with one shotgun.”

“One stone,” Hank says, folding his arms. “Fine. IMAX. The nature movies.”

“Fine! Tomorrow night?”

“I don’t even know if they are playing anything.”

“I’ll think of something else then.” Alex considers Hank and his dumb glasses and discovers that there might be worse things than going gay for Hank, who looks like the picture perfect of a Hollywood nerd. Alex finds he wants to smooch him stupid. It’s a thoroughly new experience. “You’re not half-bad looking, you know?”

“How did you ever get laid, I wonder?”

“Alcohol. Lots of it.”

“That smells suspiciously like consent issues.”

“What was the least sensible proposition?”

“What?”

“You said this was second least. What was the least?”

“Raven. She insisted we should get together because we both like the color blue and that a gay boyfriend is a good accessory for blue.”

“That makes no sense.”

“She was really drunk at the time.”

Alex snickers, because it sounds like Raven. He kisses Hank again, and it’s chaste this time, nothing but a peck. “I’m gonna be a gentleman and leave now. Bye.”

“Isn’t that a change of pace,” Hank says, but he is smiling.

Alex whistles all the way home.

*****

IMAX is playing a movie about sharks Friday night, which is possibly the very last thing Alex needs: to be staring down Erik’s five story high throat framed with razor sharp teeth in glorious 3D.

He allows the universe to make it up to him by playing tonsil hockey with Hank, who, unfortunately, watches the progression of the killings with rapt attention on his face. He’s probably making notes, Alex thinks and kind of wants to hit him.

It’s a damn good thing that the dinner went over well (they seem to share a passion for dissing baseball in no uncertain terms. They may also have compared reading lists and found them oddly compatible, but that Alex will deny when questioned -- Hank reads some stupid shit), because Hank needs a manual on dating. One written in block capitals.

On the screen a fuzzy coffee colored seal flops along the ice, turning its huge, guileless eyes every which way. Its fur is slick and pettable and Alex wants to hug it and run his fingers down its coat. It’s so cute it probably will break into song in five minutes and the song will be accompanied by a fuzzy sea-mice chorus.

Too bad there is a telltale fin circling the ice.

“That,” Alex whispers to Hank as he points at the hapless seal, “Is Mr. Xavier. Right now.”

The seal flops patiently along the edge and peers down into the inky Arctic waters. It looks apprehensive, and Alex can get behind that, because the sea looks cold as hell. Eventually it slips into the water and just as Alex starts gearing up for the musical number, the poor seal turns, panic blossoms in its eyes, and then its silky fur bursts into a bright red cloud. A shark emerges from the red mist, grinning at the IMAX audience, as it picks the seal from between its teeth, looking smug as holy hell.

“And this it my dad and Mr. Xavier. See what we’re up against?”

Hank smacks him. “Would it kill you to relax?”

“Would it kill you to be a realist for ten minutes?”

“Would it kill you both to shut up and go back to making out?”

Alex looks up at the glowering face of the patron in the row behind them.

“Seriously, fuck for all I care, just shut up.”

“Do you mind? We have to be heroic in a moment. We’re gearing up.”

“Yeah, well, I hope you fail, if it’s any consolation. But if you make the news, I will want an autograph and dibs on writing your biographies.”

Alex rolls his eyes and goes right back to watching the shark dine on the innocent floppy little seal. He’s relatively sure he spies its fuzzy face among the gore, still surprised that the shark ate it instead of hugging it and taking it home for dinner and candy.

He feels vindicated when they leave the theater. The universe has just taken time off to prove him right, and fuck if it didn’t feel amazing.

“I think you need therapy,” Hank says. “You might be a little over-invested.”

“I’m trying to save a man’s life here!”

“Mr. Lehnsherr wouldn’t murder him! I mean, not really.”

“Dude, there’s, like, hospitals dedicated to people who are worse off than dead.”

“Let’s be rational for ten minutes, what can your dad do to Mr. Xavier? It’s not like he can get him fired, he can’t blackmail him, because with Raven around it’s no great secret that Mr. Xavier is bisexual. He’s stupidly rich and connected, but he’s got no parents, so no way to make his life difficult by being a bother.”

“He could break his heart,” Alex says grimly. “Erik does that. He’s had a girlfriend a few years back. The breakup was nasty. She was crying, I’m pretty sure she even begged, and he didn’t even flinch, he just walked away smirking all the while.”

“You don’t sound too broken up about it.”

Alex shrugs. He wasn’t a fan of hers -- she was pleasant enough, he supposed, but there was the oily quality to her, like she tried too hard to be lovable. Good boobs, obviously. Erik appreciated that. She made the token effort to reach out to Alex as well, but they had soon agreed that a mutual pact of noninterference was in order. Erik seemed to like her, so Alex resolved to be quiet, even if she made his hackles rise. Fortunately, the whole affair only lasted a few months.

Hank sighs and falls silent. His hand just happens to bump Alex’s as they walk and it seems like a good idea to twine their fingers together. Hank’s got stupidly warm hands.

“Thanks. It was nice of you. I know you’re not crazy about nature documentaries,” Hank says as they walk.

Alex savors the compliment. It might be the first time ever anyone in his family was called nice. “Wasn’t bad, bozo. I mean, I do get it at home all the time, what with sharks and everything, but still.”

They are silent as they make their way back to Alex’s place.

“What are they playing next week?” Alex asks. It’s either that, or run down the street screaming “gay oppression!” and it’s no time for the show yet.

“Volcanoes.”

“Okay, that I want to see.”

Hank gives him a surprised look, which Alex thinks should offend him.

“What? I like volcanoes. Especially in 3D.”

“You’re a freak.”

“It’s genetic, baby!”

“Don’t call me baby.”

“We’re dating now, I’m allowed.”

“I’m going to call you snookooms in public.”

Alex nearly doubles over laughing. “Snookooms? What are you, twelve?”

Hank turns bright red. Alex is still snickering when they stand in front of his house. “Wanna come in?”

“That depends. Is your dad in?”

Judging by the lights in the living room, he is. If memory serves, he is having Mr. Xavier over tonight. “No, of course not,” Alex says and grins.

“You are a horrible liar.”

Alex laughs, louder than he probably should, but the laughter obscures the frantic beat of his heart. Stupid organ, really. One would think evolution would take them beyond the necessity of the fragile, fleshy little pump. One would think something more sophisticated and pneumatic would have been invented by now. “You’d think I was half decent, what with living with Erik all my life, but the man’s depressingly honest. It’s frustrating as fuck.” His dumb heart thunders so loud he can barely hear his own voice.

He would have run, if Hank wasn’t holding his hand. Instead he opens the door and walks inside, his new boyfriend in tow. Now it is show time.

“Dad,” he says when they walk in to the living room.

He feels like he is standing over the dark waters of a pool. He’s on a platform fifty feet in the air, staring down into the shark-infested waters. He’s teetering on the edge, right now.

“Alex,” Mr. Xavier says cheerfully. He was sitting across from Erik when they walked in, and now he half-turns in his chair and Alex catches the glimpse of the chess set between them. Mr. Xavier’s smile is open and bright, and Erik looks at him like he is lunch.

It’s the only push Alex needs.

“Dad, I’m dating Hank.” He forces his eyes to stay open.

Erik barely looks up. “Good job, kid, have a cookie.”

Alex reels just as Mr. Xavier picks up a plate and extends it in his direction. “Congratulations, both of you. I made these. I could do with a little more practice, but they aren’t half bad.”

The clue train has left the station and Alex stares after it, uncertain whether he should chase it. Something is amiss. To start with, he just used the word “amiss” in a non-ironic context.

“I’m dating Hank,” he repeats stupidly. “For real.”

Erik looks to Hank, then back at Alex. “He’s really dating you?”

Hank has the presence of mind to keep breathing, but that’s as far as it goes. “I. Um. Yes?”

“I, um, yes? Hank, I do hope you’ve been doing your homework, because acting career is out of question.”

“No, I mean, we really are. We went out tonight.”

“Obviously.”

“On a date,” Hank clarifies and stares at Alex miserably.

“I haven’t been so touched since the last episode of My Little Pony,” Erik says and moves his only remaining rook five spaces forward. “Next time try to come up with something remotely plausible.”

Alex is, unexpectedly, angry. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“You expect me to believe the nerd would date you?” Erik looks at Hank. “Honestly? With the kind of porn you can hack on the internet you’d go to the movies with Mr. Vanilla Is A Legitimate Kink?”

“Yeah, keep deflecting, Dad.”

Erik pauses with his hand on the bishop he’d just taken off the board. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh dear,” Charles says and gets up. “Hank, I’ll walk you home, shall I? This has the air of a long argument.”

“Stay right there!” Alex yells, before his lone, prized brain cells wakes up.

Hank looks between Erik’s scowl and Alex, and sensibly picks the less painful death. “Sorry, Alex,” he says. “Call me later?”

“Count on it,” Alex growls into Erik’s face, even as Hank follows Mr. Xavier out the door. “I’m dating him.”

“Have the goddamn cookie and sit down.” Erik shoves him and drops the plate onto Alex’s lap. “Now, what the fuck brought this on?”

“What, Hank? Dunno, he’s kinda cute and he used to have a crush on me.”

“You’re the designated dreamboat at school, who doesn’t have a crush on you?”

“Raven, for one.”

“Why the hell aren’t you dating Angel? You spent most of the summer last year photographing her chest.”

Alex scowls. “Fuck you! I’m dating Hank, because I want to date Hank, why is this such a problem for you!”

“Because the kid’s a shy nerd, that’s why, and you barely have two braincells to rub together when it comes to people. You think it’s amusing now, but then you’ll stop trying to prove whatever it is you’re trying to prove and Hank will get hurt.”

“Oh, so now you’re trying to spare people the hurt, that’s rich.”

Erik sits down. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Is this about Raven?”

“Is what about Raven?”

“Are you doing this for her? She and Hank are close, I see how that might help. If perhaps I disengage my brain and let the hormones and teen comedies do the thinking for me, obviously.”

“No! Jesus, why is it so hard to believe I might want to be with a guy, for real?”

“Well, it would go against your career so far. I suppose it’s not wholly unbelievable.” Erik awards him a long, pointed look, the kind that goes right through the token argument and strikes jackpot fifty stories below. Alex squirms in his seat. Fuck. “But it’s not about Hank, either.”

“I need a drink,” Alex says after a minute, during which Erik flays most of his brain’s inner lining with his gaze. “Do I need the third degree right now?”

“You’ve been acting like a bitch for the past few months. I’ve chalked it up to the gay panic, but that’s excessive even for you.”

“What gay panic?”

“The one you had when you came home screaming Charles was gay and spending time in our house, and therefore the whole world would think you were also gay by association. Which was very mature of you, by the way.”

Alex tilts his head. “What?”

“Kudos for trying to get over it, but again, Hank is not the right person for experimentation.”

Alex wills his face to lose the lobster-red color. God, this is familiar. This is The Talk all over again. Without the power point, which is a small mercy, but Erik is grinning, which means he has the very same thought and he is going to milk the cow for all it, and the farm it came from, is worth.

Good-bye, dignity.

“We’re not experimenting!”

“I would hope so, I took the parental control off the internet two years ago. I expect you know more than the basic biological facts by now.”

“You disabled it?”

“It was never on to begin with.” Erik grins. “But it’s good to know my rules still get some respect around here.”

“Yeah, screw you.”

“Do I need to start yelling?” Erik folds his hands and props his chin on them. “I will. Unless you quit the bullshit and tell me what the fuck is your problem, right now.”

“You have to stop seeing Mr. Xavier,” Alex says finally. It comes out a little desperate.

Erik sighs. “Fuck. Not that again. Look, I thought you were getting over this?”

“Over what?”

“Over the perceived threat to your masculinity. Trust me, it’s dead. I’m sure you feel the need to defend it, but you are standing over smoking ruins. Let it go.”

“It’s not about me!”

“Isn’t that what mutilating Hank’s heart and soul is about? You getting over the homophobic jock stage? If you’re so dead set on fucking a guy, there’s no end to people you can get into your bed, I’m sure you’re aware. Charles tells me half the football team is either gay or so horny they won’t care. I didn’t think he included you in that half, but there you go. He claims to have a spectacular gaydar. I’m inclined to believe him.”

Alex is relatively sure he manages to string together a respective amount of syllables and construct a sophisticated, concise question. He feels cheated when Erik raises a brow and says, “English, Alex, please.”

“I’m…” Alex closes his mouth and shakes his head. “It’s not about me.”

“Who is it about, then?”

“You! You and Mr. Xavier and god! Erik, for the love of fluffy kittens. Leave the poor man alone!”

“Subject change, fair enough. I’m tired of talking about your dick anyway. So, Charles.” Erik makes himself comfortable. “What, exactly, is your problem with Charles? Because the last argument you used against his presence in these parts just lost all credibility, I hope you realize this much.”

“My problem is that you are an evil son of a bitch and Mr. Xavier deserves better than to be ripped apart by you. He’s really nice, okay? He thinks everybody is really nice! Raven says he likes you, so he probably thinks that you are nice, and there’s a world of wrongness right there. You are not nice! I’m still unconvinced you’re human, you’re so evil sometimes. Mr. Xavier is just… this fluffy little kitten and you are going to stomp over him and it will be far worse than anything I will ever do to Hank, which I won’t, but you will. There.” Alex takes a cookie and bites. It’s still warm in the middle, and the chocolate chips are the gooey definition of perfection. “These are really awesome.”

Erik is watching him and his mouth is open. Alex reaches out and shoves a cookie between his dad’s teeth, because no matter how sharky the mouth, it looks instantly better with a cookie in it.

“Did Mr. Xavier really make these?” he asks, when Erik fails to utter a word, and there is a hint of desperation in his voice, despite his best efforts.

“Alex,” Erik says at long last, pulling the most spot on impression of wounded Bambi eyes Alex has had the pleasure of seeing on a human being. It skewers his world view, just a little. This is his evil shark of a dad. “Did you just try to make me go apeshit on you to scare off Charles, whose company I genuinely enjoy, because you were worried about _him_?”

Alright, that sounded a little bad. A little. A tiny, insignificant, “dear lord, he will gut me,” bit.

Erik’s eyes close. “I see. I think you need to go.”

“What? Where?”

“Anywhere, really. To Hank, or if you fail to not get caught there, go to Armando. Just get out of the house tonight, will you?”

“Why?”

“Because I have sacrifices to make and I’m out of goats. Out.”

It might be a little belated, but Alex has the feeling he might have just done something quite wrong. “Dad… Are you mad?”

“A little disappointed, that’s all.” Erik stares off into space. He doesn’t say anything else.

Alex walks out of the house, reeling. He doesn’t make it to Hank’s house until well over an hour later, even though it’s only a few streets away.

*****

 

INTERLUDE

Erik doesn’t think long after Alex walks out before he picks up the phone. To his credit, Charles picks up after the second ring. “It didn’t go too well, did it? I just saw Alex rushing out of the house.”

“Have you heard the argument?”

“I’m not a stalker. I’m on the corner.”

Erik smirks into the phone. “Come on in. Whiskey?”

“Please.”

Charles lets himself in when Erik is in the kitchen. He hears the lock around the rattling of the ice cubes.

“How bad was it?” Charles asks.

Erik shrugs. He turns off the light and hands Charles the tumbler. As an afterthought he leans in and presses their lips together. “Let’s have sex,” he says. His voice is low, but Charles hears, because Erik can see his pupils dilate.

“So it went well,” Charles says when they walk up the stairs to Erik’s bedroom.

“I might have to turn in my father card, it seems. Oh, and before you feel too good about yourself, I’m having your mind reader card revoked, too.”

“I take it Alex is not violently opposed to us.”

“Oh, he is. He has told me so, in no uncertain terms.”

“Oh dear,” Charles says and his mouth is curling into a smile. Erik holds the bedroom door open and gestures inside.

“After you.”

“Erik.” Charles sounds uncertain for a moment. Erik shakes his head, takes the tumbler out of his hands and sets it on the dresser. He cradles Charles’ face in his hands and kisses him deeply. It’s exhilarating. The fact that it happens in his own bedroom somehow adds to the appeal.

“Why the hell did we even wait this long?” he murmurs into Charles’ parted lips. His tongue darts out to brush against Charles’ teeth, just as he starts talking.

“Because your son had a colossal problem with accepting you having homosexual leanings? Which I’m still in the dark about.”

“Ah, that. Alex believes I’m evil.”

“Excuse me?” Charles blinks, a fact obvious to Erik by the fluttering of eyelashes against his cheek.

“It is adorable, but he seems to think he’s witnessing some sort of a Little Red Riding Hood scenario, with you skipping happily to your doom. I should be proud he felt the need to rescue you from the Big Bad Wolf.” Erik adds a thoughtful growl, which is entirely lost on Charles.

“He was serious,” he says. His mouth is hanging open. “He was serious!”

“Oh?”

“He came to talk to me a while back. Warned me to stay away from you. Used those exact words. ‘Erik is evil, Mr. Xavier, evil like Megan Fox.’”

Erik laughs and kisses Charles again and again, until he stops talking and Erik’s shoulders are shaking in mirth. “Outwitted by a football player.”

“This is a first for me, too,” Charles admits and his hands are splayed comfortingly on Erik’s back. “I may have overdone the innocent act.”

“You don’t say.” Erik maneuvers them towards the bed, until he is sitting down and Charles is on his hands and knees above him. Their lips never part, because Erik is certain he would stop breathing if they did. God, he’d waited so long for this, for Alex to get his head out of his ass, and now it turns out he needn’t have--

That is when his mobile goes off, vibrating in his pocket like an angry bee, while the valkyries thunder through the first beats of Wagner.

“Fuck,” Erik says. Charles sits back and cocks his head in a silent question. “It’s Emma. She won’t stop calling even if I switch it off.”

Charles bites his lip, but he is smiling. Even in the shadows his face appears flushed and Erik has to fight to keep his voice even and businesslike.

“This is not a good time,” he says into the receiver.

Charles hums and inches closer.

“Sweetheart, never is a good time for you. I just got off the phone with Alex, who is weeping with distress. Apparently, he broke your paternal heart.”

“Emma. Now is not a good time,” Erik says again, painfully aware that Charles is stretched out over him and nipping on his neck, that his lips are moist and his teeth are sharp.

“When else, then?” she says. She sounds concerned for a moment there, but Erik can’t concentrate on her voice.

Charles’ hands are underneath the hem of Erik’s turtleneck and he’s pulling it up, inch by inch, as his fingers crawl up Erik’s torso. Emma’s diatribe is getting less and less interesting, even if she is summarizing a very emotional call from Alex. Erik hums thoughtfully in all the right places, but mostly he tries to keep his balance, because he is sitting on a flexible bed with one hand at his own ear, the other rubbing circles into Charles’ naked back, and his turtleneck is slowly, but surely inching up towards his head.

“So, are you okay, Erik?” Emma asks when Charles pushes the turtleneck over his head and bends to lick his collarbone.

“Am I okay? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“That’s what I told Alex, but you know teens, so dramatic. Everything is the end of the world.”

“Most things are the end of the world at that age,” Erik says wryly. He has only a handful of life-changing memories, and among those the most vivid is Emma, telling him she was pregnant, and Emma again, dropping a screaming infant into his lap. Neither proved particularly world-ending and, oddly enough, showing up to an oral exam with a toddler got him extra points for effort.

“So how is your world, still stable?”

“Emma, you are an epic cockblock. I trust you are aware of this?”

“Oh? Do you have a lady friend with you? Put me through, if you will.”

Erik catches Charles’ eye. “Sure,” he finds himself saying and turns the speaker on.

“Hello, there,” Emma says and she sounds gleeful. It’s not hard to guess why -- the pre-coital phone calls occurred with depressing frequency, but this was the first time she was getting her way. “Moira, is it? I understand this is somewhat unorthodox, but I wanted to impress upon you the sheer amount of pain I will put you through if this goes wrong. Erik seems scary, but he is a gentleman at heart, but me…”

“It’s Charles, actually. As for the warning, I am aware of the risks, thank you.”

There is a brief silence. “My, my, Erik. You have been holding out on me.”

“I try.”

“This is why we need sex-ed in school. You would have figured out you were queer before I grew to the size of a walrus and I wouldn’t have needed to spend the following year wearing burlap sacks.”

“The joys of motherhood are lost on you, aren’t they?”

“Erik, dear. I fed and breathed for the little brat for nine months. If that doesn’t prove I have maternal feelings, I don’t know what does.”

Charles is hiding a smile, but it is so bright and wide Erik would see it through a concrete wall. “Are we done here?”

“Leave the speaker on and take your time. I’m footing the bill.”

“It might be more sensible to do it over Skype, then.” Charles’ thigh is between Erik’s now. His mouth is brushing Erik’s chest, leaving narrow wet stripes where the tongue darted from between his teeth. “Less expenses. More visuals. Though there is something to be said for aural stimulation, I’ll give you that. Erik sounds really good.”

Erik can picture Emma’s face, flawless, exquisite in silent laughter. “I look forward to meeting you, Charles. I shall leave you boys to your fun, I have a child to console.”

“Likewise, Emma. It’s been a pleasure.”

Emma hangs up without another word and Charles laughs into Erik’s shoulder. “I can safely say this marks the first time I held a conversation with someone’s ex while actively trying to score with them.”

“Emma isn’t an ex, exactly.”

Charles makes a consonant-rich noise into Erik’s neck. “You have the most interesting family. You, according to Alex, are capable of having building machines do murder on your behalf, Emma sounds like the Snow Queen over the phone and you assure me she is frostier in person, while your son fancies himself as a knight in a shining armor.” He kisses Erik thoroughly. “On second thought, I wonder how could I have possibly missed that.”

“You were busy trying to get into my pants.”

“True.” There is a gentle pressure on the waistband of Erik’s jeans. He recognizes fingertips. Charles is watching him, and with every blink of Erik’s eyes his head is lower and lower, until his mouth is resting against Erik’s abdomen. “So, Erik. Do I get into your pants, or should I allow Alex to rescue me?”

“How precious, I’m being wooed.”

“A new experience?”

“Rather.” Erik grins and then groans, because Charles doesn’t continue with the line of enquiry, but sits up and starts undoing the buttons of his own shirt.

“Patience, my dear.”

“It’s a virtue I am short on.”

Fortunately, as it turns out, so is Charles. He folds the shirt in half, throws it onto the chair, and then he is on Erik, kissing him with a ferocity that his usual professorly ensemble does a great job of concealing. His mouth is hot and full of promises, which, Erik is certain, are outlawed in at least seventeen different states, but there’s weight behind each kiss and fire, one that burns its way through Erik’s system.

Granted, the lack of adipose in the breast area is a little disappointing, but the disappointment melts in the fire, anyway, so when Erik rolls them over and feels the entirety of Charles’ front against his, feels the cool air on his naked back, he forgets everything but what’s in front of him. Then it turns out Charles can undo buttons on two separate waistbands with one hand, while most of his attention is elsewhere. Erik finds the turn of events delightful.

The orgasm is small fry in comparison.

“My Little Pony,” Charles tells the ceiling. Erik looks up, but his gaze quickly drifts back down, because the edge of his duvet is far more engrossing. It cuts a smooth line across Charles’ torso, starting just below his left nipple and plunging to his right hip, where the material folds in on itself and hugs Erik around the stomach. “Interesting.”

“It’s brightly colored twinkie crack,” Erik says. “I have no regrets.”

“Skittles are brightly colored crack.”

“Ponies are talking Skittles.”

“So they are more M&Ms then.”

“Except M&Ms have yet to discover purple sparkles.”

“Ah.” Charles folds an arm under his head. “I can see why Alex is so worried you might spend time with someone. My Little Pony, dear lord. No wonder the poor boy believes you’re evil.”

“I’m not ashamed.”

Charles raises a brow. Erik knows a challenge when he sees one. He reaches under the bed for his laptop and scoots up against the pillows, so that he can prop it in his lap.

Charles watches him and he is seconds away from breaking into hysterical laughter, when Erik double clicks “my computer,” goes through “my videos” to a folder labeled “mlpfim.”

“This smells suspiciously like blackmail material. Alex never found these?”

“Couldn’t guess my password.”

“I bet I could.”

Erik looks down to find Charles’ bright blue eyes fixed on him. He smiles. “Yes. You probably could.”

“Do I get a hint?”

“Eight characters. Letters and numbers.”

Charles snorts, but the snort is muffled by the skin of Erik’s shoulder, so it becomes a kiss instead. “AL, oh three, oh eight, ninety-four. A variation thereof.”

“I forgot you have access to his records.”

“I have a good memory for dates.” Charles’ fingers trail down Erik’s arm. “It’s sweet.”

“Don’t tell Alex, he’d die of shock.”

“He might.” Charles lifts the duvet and sidles closer until they are pressed against one another, skin to skin, just as the screen flares and Twilight Sparkle starts narrating. “Oh my god,” Charles says and giggles. “She’s called Twilight Sparkle!”

“I can’t see how Charles Xavier is any better.”

Twilight prances across the screen and Charles is crying with laughter against Erik’s shoulder, while his hand is sneaking beneath the covers and under the laptop, warm and thoroughly distracting.

“Charles,” Erik says a few minutes later, when his diaphragm gets excited and starts making uncontrollable rocking motions, interrupting his comfortable breathing patterns.

“Hush, darling. The ponies are talking.” There’s a crease between Charles’ brows and his mouth is curled around a smile so filthy that a bottle of bleach and an hour of scrubbing would only scratch its surface.

Erik sighs, grins and tries to relax. “Watch,” he says.

“Kinky pony torture? On our very first night? I had no idea we were this far gone.”

“I do believe you have been warned.”

“Not about this level of depravation. Are you going to eat my liver next? I thought I saw a bottle of Chianti in the kitchen.” Charles presses a thoughtful kiss to Erik’s collarbone. “Oh, this is adorable. I just might die of diabetes before the episode is over.”

“I’ll blow you if you manage to last until the end of the story.”

“When you put it like this, it’s worth the inevitable insulin shots.”

Charles manages just barely. Erik makes good on his promise. They fall asleep still breathless with laughter.

*****

The house is quiet in the early morning. Alex yawns and pushes the gate open with one hand, while trying to swallow the other. Stupid Hank and his goddamned morals. Wouldn’t even put out, the bastard. Alex growls at the poodle, which wanders to his leg, until it gets the picture and leaves him the hell alone.

Mrs. Lambert sniffs at him. He grins. Erik’s genes come through for him, or once, because she is pale and shaking when she turns and flees.

Alex snorts. That’s what she gets for messing with them.

He opens the door and slips inside. The door to his room looks dark, remote and inviting, but it is nearly six, he’s dying for food and it’s not like he will be able to sleep, anyway. Not until he talks to Erik.

The kitchen is bright and, surprisingly, smells like coffee and pancakes.

“Alex, good morning!”

Alex retains his teeth through the miracle of the fridge door alone. He grasps the handle and doesn’t hit the table with his face, though it is close. “Mr. Xavier,” he says. “What?”

“How do you feel about blueberry pancakes? I’m afraid that was the only fruit I found in your fridge. I could still try to make plain ones, if you wish.”

“Blueberry is good.” Alex stares, but it is too damn early to process the attitude. He’s relatively sure their walls aren’t made of happy pills, because if they are he has wasted a good portion of his teenaged life on needless angst.

“Wonderful. Coffee?”

Alex nods, mutely, and the shiny bundle of unabashed happiness flitters about their kitchen, fixes a cup and sets it before him. Then, unexpectedly, the shiny bundle of unabashed happiness is in his face, no longer shiny, but glaring, no longer unabashed, but brazen. The glare is narrowed to twin pinpoints of blue, which bore into Alex’s skull with the efficiency of a death metal concert.

“Uh,” Alex says.

“Erik was quite upset,” says the creature wearing Mr. Xavier for a body suit. Alex knows this must be true, because it doesn’t sound happy. Or cheerful. It doesn’t sound like Mr. Xavier at all. “Alex, my dear, I am awfully fond of you, but please refrain from hurting Erik’s feelings in the future. Because then I might be forced to do unpleasant things to your person. Unpleasant and gruesome. Believe me, I know how.”

Alex’s hands are shaking and the entirety of the Sahara desert has migrated into his mouth for the express purpose of making nervous swallowing a torture. Mr. Xavier is still watching him from less than a foot away, and Alex’s eyes try to roll back into his head, and as they do he notices the cuff of the shirt around Mr. Xavier’s wrist, which is resting on the table. A cranberry juice stain smiles at him, pale after so many washings, but unmistakably there.

“That’s dad’s shirt,” he manages through the shock. It’s Erik’s favorite shirt, the one he wears only on lazy Sunday mornings, when he can doze in a sunbeam like a giant, lazy cat.

Mr. Xavier blinks and the radiance of pure joy is back. “Ah, yes, I’m told it’s customary.”

“For a certain given value of custom, yes.”

Alex doesn’t dare to look away from Mr. Xavier, for fear that he will miss the alien sprouting out of his chest, but he notices the fleshy shape reflected in the fridge door. Erik, thank god.

“Were you just threatening my son?” he asks, dropping a hand into Alex’s hair.

Mr. Xavier turns, another cup of coffee in hand. “Yes.”

“Put the fear of god into him?”

“I tried for fear of Charles, but I would hope so.”

“Excellent.” Erik takes the coffee and, as though to cement his position as the Antichrist and All That Is Wrong With The Universe, twists his fingers in the shirt’s front and ruins the last of Alex’s innocence by shoving his tongue down Mr. Xavier’s mouth.

“I’m going to be sick,” Alex announces. “Right now.”

“Be sure to disinfect the table later,” Erik tells him. He’s grinning. So is Mr. Xavier.

“I died, didn’t I? I was hit by a bus on my way home. This is hell.”

“So fatalistic. Your first thought should be that you are sleeping.” Mr. Xavier leans over the table and stirs a spoonful of honey into Alex’s coffee. “It’s appalling that you have no tea in the house.”

“Get your own,” Erik says and sticks a finger into the bowl of batter.

Mr. Xavier smacks it away. “Wait your turn. Alex was here first.”

“Don’t I get privileges?” Erik fucking pouts around the finger in his mouth. Alex resists the urge to throw his cup to the floor and run screaming.

“All in due time,” Mr. Xavier says mildly and smiles. It’s a wicked smile, all teeth and tongue and eyebrows knitting in the middle, shadowing the gleaming irises.

Alex’s forehead hits the table just as his eyes try to crawl out of his sockets and commit ritual suicide. No one notices. No one cares. The world has gone insane. He is stuck in the Twilight Zone, forever.

THE END.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Skidding Down the Sliding Scale (Edna McCoy's Guide to Parenting Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4691084) by [a_q](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_q/pseuds/a_q)




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